Silence
by Weezlebub
Summary: Elizabeta is tired of watching her brother-in-law Ludwig, an ex-Wehrmacht soldier, isolate himself from the world in his crumbling country estate. She hires an unlikely candidate to be Ludwig's new housekeeper, a mute Italian boy named Feliciano Vargas...(Germany/Italy, mentions of other pairings. post-WWII, AU. warnings for language and adult themes. multi-chapter.)
1. Chapter 1

A/N at the end. GerIta. AU.

**Warnings**: this story will contain male/male pairing(s), mature language, adult themes.

**Disclaimer: **(Are these actually necessary-something tells me no) Don't own, not-for-profit.

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During the early evening rush, the train station was crowded with people heading in every conceivable direction. A steady stream of commuters and businessmen flowed on and off departing trains, comprising an efficient rush that swept up less experienced travelers and cast them aside like debris in a river. Elizabeta cut through the crowds with a businesslike air, her shoulders thrown back and her chin tilted up as she navigated into a large atrium lined with rows of wooden benches. The atrium was packed with bodies and the air was hot and damp and hazy with cigarette smoke. She was soon sweating beneath her light jacket and ankle-length skirt. Along with the heat, irritation began to buzz under her skin like bees as her eyes continuously scanned the faces that passed her, searching for the boy she was supposed to be meeting here. With only a vague description of his appearance to work with, she soon began to feel like she was digging for the needle in the proverbial haystack.

Just as Elizabeta was about to march over to a security constable and berate him until he helped her locate her target, a large commotion broke out nearby. She and several others stopped what they were doing and turned to watch the scene unfold. A rather obese, but well-dressed man was shouting, his thick mustache quivering as he gesticulated angrily with his hands. The victim of his temper appeared to be a meek lad, humbly dressed in unadorned, rough cotton clothing. Beside the man, a thin woman in a fine velvet dress was being helped off the ground by a passerby, her white gloves soiled from where her hands had touched the ground.

"Apologize at _once_!" The portly man was shouting, "What kind of brute knocks a lady down and doesn't apologize? Well, haven't you anything to say? _Speak_, boy!"

The boy's mouth opened and closed, but no sound emerged. His thin hands fluttered around his throat and he pointed at his mouth repeatedly. This behavior only served to confuse and irritate the man, whose face was beginning to turn an alarming shade of purple. "What's the matter with you, boy? You barrel down my wife and offer no explanation or apology? Are you an idiot? Or are you a thief, eh? Tell me, were you trying to _steal_ from my wife? Answer me, you filthy street urchin!"

The boy was shaking his head frantically now, tears spilling down his cheeks. He pointed at his mouth again, shook his head, looking desperately at the man for some hint of understanding. The gears within Elizabeta's mind clicked into place and she immediately realized who this boy was. Without hesitating, she began to elbow her way past the gawking spectators.

"Hold it right there!" She shouted, throwing herself in front of the boy just as the man was about to strike him with his meaty fist.

The man's raised hand jerked as he stopped in mid-swing. He glared at her. "Who the hell are you?"

"How dare you try to strike a boy less than half your size! Have you no shame as a man?" Elizabeta put her hands on her hips, unsheathing her claws and entering full mother-bear mode. "Look at him, the poor thing is already in tears!"

She turned her body so that the man could see the boy cowering behind her. He lifted his tear-stained face hesitantly, then flinched back as soon as he saw the fat man glaring daggers at him. The man wasn't moved. "He's a filthy brat who tried to rob my wife! This isn't any of your business and I suggest you step aside like a good little girl."

"Don't you dare patronize me, you blustering swine! If you had half as many brain cells as you do fat cells, you would have noticed that the boy is mute! He can't speak!"

This seemed to throw the man off-balance and his thick brows furrowed in confusion. "I don't—what?"

"You're such an ignorant cretin that you didn't even realize the boy was trying to tell you he couldn't speak. Why do you think he kept pointing at his throat and mouth?"

The man was beginning to look very uncomfortable now. His small eyes darted nervously around at the faces of the crowd.

"Don't play the fool, sir." Elizabeta pressed, "You've verbally abused and attempted to batter a defenseless boy. You're despicable!"

"H-hold on there, lady, I never—" The man blundered, but he was at least intelligent enough to realize that he had lost the fight. The crowd around them was whispering and twittering, and not in his favor.

Elizabeta drew herself up to her full height of five-foot-three, giving the man a steely look as she delivered her finishing blow. "My husband is the chief of police in this district, so you'd best run along before I have you arrested for assault! Well, what are you waiting for? Get out of my sight before I report you to the authorities!"

The man looked like he wanted to say something more in his defense, but something in Elizabeta's face must have convinced him otherwise. Grumbling harshly under his breath, the porcine man took his wife in hand and led her quickly out of the circle of spectators. Elizabeta glared at their backs as they disappeared into the crowd. Once they were out of sight, the small mob that had gathered around the scene quickly lost interest and began to disperse. Elizabeta let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"Are you alright?" She turned her attention to the boy next to her. He nodded, looking a bit awestruck, and she smiled soothingly at him. He was just as Roderich had described, with auburn hair, warm olive-toned skin, and large eyes that were the color of bright, burnished copper. He was only a few inches taller than her and had a simple, country-boy look about him that made him stick out like a sore thumb among the cosmopolitan crowd.

Elizabeta extended her hand and the boy took it, though he looked surprised. "I'm Elizabeta Beilschmidt, nice to meet you. I think Mr. Edelstein should have told you about me…?"

The boy blinked at her without comprehension. Elizabeta raised an eyebrow, either she'd made a mistake or the boy was a bit slower on the uptake than she'd expected. "Ah, you _are_ Feliciano Vargas, aren't you?"

He stared at her, expression slack for another long moment, before his face broke out into a brilliant smile. He squeezed her palm warmly in his own form of greeting. Practically bouncing with excitement, he reminded her of an energetic puppy. His innocent enthusiasm made it hard for her to a straight face as she admonished him for getting himself into trouble. "You need to be more careful, Feliciano. The city isn't like being sheltered in Rod—er, Mr. Edelstein's—house. There are tons of people who would want to pick on someone as cute as you. Never talk with strangers if you can avoid it and _never_ let one of those smooth-talking conmen get you to give up your money on some worthless tincture. That goes for beggars, too! Most of the ones you see on the street are just pretending to be destitute when in reality they make a pretty penny off suckers from the countryside…" Elizabeta's rant trailed off as she noticed Feliciano's eyes glazing over. The boy had a pretty short attention span, didn't he? Honestly, was he really going to be alright for the job or was this whole endeavor going to blow up in her face? Well, at least she wouldn't have to worry about him running into pickpockets once he was safely tucked away on the Beilschmidt estate. Not that her dour brother-in-law was significantly preferable, she thought wryly.

"Let's get a move on, then. Is that your only baggage?" She indicated a small tattered suitcase on the ground by Feliciano's feet. He nodded and bent to pick it up, holding it in front of him with both hands. Elizabeta noted the state of his clothing as well. His jacket and shirt were clean but patched. The brown pants looked a bit newer, but were held up by fraying suspenders. Elizabeta wanted to roll her eyes. How typical of Roderich. Her Austrian friend was an old-fashioned gentleman, but for someone with so much money, he was far too stingy. He could have at least gifted his servant with a single new set of clothes for the road.

"Well, if that's all, why don't you follow me out to the car. It's parked just outside."

Elizabeta began walking toward the station's entrance, where she had asked her driver to wait with the car. Her young charge stumbled along behind her, suitcase banging against his thigh. When they exited the station, Elizabeta raised an arm to catch her driver's attention. The man had been leaning against the car's hood and smoking. Seeing her and Feliciano, he stamped out the cigarette and moved to open the passenger door.

"That's Christophe, my driver," she explained to Feliciano in a low voice, "He's an old friend of my husband's. He's acts grumpy, but he's really a nice fellow, so don't be scared when you meet him. Just smile, like you're doing right now."

Feliciano's smile became a bit more self-conscious and he ducked his head, looking at Elizabeta through his long eyelashes. Unconsciously, she put her hand to her chest, just over her heart. The boy was simply adorable.

Elizabeta and Feliciano nestled in side-by-side in the back of the car as Christophe maneuvered them back out into the crowded city streets, muttering something foul under his breath. She took the first few minutes to observe the young man who was about to become her brother-in-law's new housekeeper. According to what Roderich had told her over the phone, he was about eighteen, born in Italy but having spent his adolescence in Austria. He had no known family and had survived off the charity of the church for most of his life. For the last four years, since the war had ended, he'd been a servant in the Edelstein household. Roderich had described him as a bit "dreamy," but had added that he completed his duties with a good attitude and had also managed to become quite the cook by hanging around the kitchens with their head chef. Elizabeta had wanted to know more, but Roderich had been short of details, and she suspected that this was more from a lack of interest on Roderich's part than any secrecy from Feliciano. The Austrian had bigger problems on his mind these days. Various portions of his family's wealth had been seized by the Nazi government after Austria's capitulation early in the war. Now, years after the Nazis' downfall, Roderich was still tangled up in financial and legal troubles, fighting protracted court battles in order to reclaim full ownership of the Edelstein title and properties.

As for Feliciano, he was not exactly what Elizabeta had been looking for when she had contacted her childhood friend for assistance in finding hired help. At first, she'd wanted a more experienced servant, someone who could both manage hard physical labor as well as handle her brother-in-law's difficult personality. Already the bad-tempered sot had terrified several maids into quitting and Elizabeta figured he might need someone older, with a thick skin and a firm hand. But Roderich had disagreed.

"Trust me, my dear," Roderich's nasal voice had crackled over the phone line, "I have someone in mind who I believe will be quite excellent for the job."

Elizabeta, nearly at her wits' end, had given in. But now, looking at Feliciano as he sat beside her in the car, the seed of doubt she'd been carrying began to grow. The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the car window and fell across the boy's face, highlighting his delicate nose, the balanced curves of his mouth and chin. He was decidedly pretty, and Elizabeta wondered for a moment if she were making a grave mistake. She felt as though she were sending a mouse into a lion's den.

And, of course, there was the _other _matter to worry about; the fact that the young servant did not, or perhaps could not, speak. The cause of his disability was unclear, but multiple doctors had examined Feliciano and declared that the boy was perfectly healthy and physically capable of talking, should he choose to do so. Whatever was stopping Feliciano from speaking was a product of the psyche. A few doctors had suggested electric-shock therapy, and one had gone so far as to declare that brain surgery was the cure. After that, Roderich had stopped consulting doctors.

Feliciano must have felt Elizabeta's eyes on him. He turned to face her, eyebrows lifting slightly in a questioning expression. Having been caught staring, Elizabeta fumbled for a distraction, and remembered suddenly that she'd brought a gift. "I have something for you," she told him as she rummaged about in her handbag and produced two items, which she pressed into Feliciano's calloused hands. He looked at them with surprise, turning them over in his hands, and then with pleasure and wonder. She had given him a pocket-sized notebook of stationary-quality paper and a blue-inked fountain pen. He glanced up at Elizabeta as if to ask, _for me, truly?_

"It's just a small gift," she said, feeling strangely embarrassed by the boy's positive reaction, "I was told that you read and write German quite fluently. You'll likely need it anyway, to do your job properly."

He opened the small bound notebook to the first page, his fingers caressed lovingly over the crisp blank paper. He uncapped the pen and tested it against the page, looking delighted as indigo ink blossomed from the tip of the pen.

_Thank you, Miss Elizaveta._

His writing was a bit ragged, and he'd spelled her name incorrectly, but it was easy enough to make out the letters.

"Feliciano, what did Mr. Edelstein tell you about my family? About the new position you'll be taking up?"

He wrote slowlyand she had to squint her eyes to make out the scribbly writing in the dimming light coming from outside.

_You are Mr. Edelstein's friend. I am going to work in your brother's house. He used to be a solider? Now he lives alone. _

"That's right, Feliciano," she replied, "I asked Mr. Edelstein if there was anyone in his household he would recommend for a job at my brother's house. He said you were a good worker and that if you wanted to, you could come to work there. You'll be paid a lot more than when you worked for Mr. Edelstein, but you'll also have a lot more responsibilities."

Feliciano bit his lip, as if debating whether to ask a question.

"Is anything wrong?" Elizabeta prompted.

The pen began scratching the paper again.

_He said I would be the only one working there?_

Ah, was that what was bothering him? Elizabeta could understand his misgivings. In fact, she was sure that if he understood the full truth about her brother-in-law and his so-called "household" that Feliciano would never have agreed to come to work for the Beilschmidts. In fact, besides the modest pay-raise she was offering, she wasn't sure why Feliciano had agreed to come at all. It meant leaving behind a familiar house, familiar faces, friends…

Elizabeta turned halfway in her seat so that she could face him properly. She put a hand on his forearm and fixed him with a serious gaze. "My brother is… He's a very lonely man, do you understand?"

Feliciano's copper eyes held her green ones. He was listening.

"You… you'll have to be very patient with him, Feliciano."

She meant to leave it at that, but as the silence that lay between them seemed to draw the words out of her against her will. "I won't lie to you. There were other servants there before, but they all left or were let go sooner or later. I think they just get tired of it—the dirty old house, maybe, or being alone there with my brother all day long. They were all good people but no one had the patience—and how could they? I hardly know what to do myself...but I hope you'll try, Feliciano. You'll always have a place in Mr. Edelstein's house, but for now, will you just promise that you'll try—" Elizabeta swallowed the sudden lump that had risen in her throat. What had gotten into her, speaking so freely to Feliciano like that? Just because the whole situation was such a terrible mess, didn't mean she could coerce such hefty promise from a mere household employee.

Embarrassed by her lack of self-control, she pressed her lips together and stared at her lap. But Feliciano simply took her small hand between his calloused ones. He made a breathy little noise, bringing her hand to his cheek, his warm eyes spelling a message of acceptance and understanding.

"Oh, sweetheart…" She grabbed him around the shoulders and pulled him close, tucking him under her chin. He rested his head on her shoulder and she felt a tightness that she hadn't even noticed beginning to unravel in her chest.

"Thank you," she whispered into the top of his head, her lips disturbing his soft hair.

They spent the rest of the long drive out of the city in silence.

~tbc~

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**Notes: **you might notice I switched up "brother" and "brother-in-law" when Elizabeta was talking or thinking and yeah, it was on purpose.

So...writing fanfiction, eh? This is a first for me, so please **drop me a line **with thoughts, encouragements, critiques, suggestions, etc.-whatever's on your mind! If you _do_ like what you've read so far and want to see more, please let me know...god knows I can always use the encouragement. Plus I will just be more motivated to actually write if I know someone out there wants to read.

Thanks :)


	2. Chapter 2

Dusk was rapidly approaching as the car pulled up the driveway of the Beilschmidt estate. Feliciano stared out the window as the house loomed above them, a weathered sentinel. Once, it must have been a lovely country home, but now its façade was marred with stains of rust and mold. Tendrils of ivy crept along the walls and encroached on the darkened, dirty first floor windows. Weeds grew knee-high around the narrow path leading to the porch steps. In the fading gray light, it almost looked haunted.

"Watch your step, dear," Elizabeta cautioned as the two of them made their way to the front door. Feliciano clutched the handle of his luggage case nervously as Elizabeta took the heavy brass knocker—shaped like an eagle with spread wings—and pounded it against the door twice. In contrast to the silence that emanated from inside the house, the world outside was teeming with life and its mosaic of sounds. Crickets chirped and ravens jabbered as they roosted in nearby trees. If he strained, he could hear the low hoot of an owl in the distance.

After what felt like forever, the sound of heavy, irregular footsteps reached his ears from inside the house. Tha_-thump_. Tha_-thump_. The owner of the footsteps walked with a noticeable limp. The door swung open to reveal a tall, broad-shouldered man with blonde hair and a sour expression on his face. Just as the neglected house had once been lovely, thought Feliciano, Mr. Beilschmidt must have once been very handsome. He had strong jaw and attractive features, but his pale skin was waxy, as if he had too much alcohol and not enough sunlight over the years. There were scars, too, that cut into the left side of his face near his eyebrow and across the corner of his mouth. His clothes were wrinkled, as if he'd slept in them.

"This is my brother-in-law, Ludwig Beilschmidt," Elizabeta was making their introductions, "Ludwig, this is the boy Roderich spoke of. His name is Feliciano Vargas."

Feliciano raised his gaze to the older man's face. Ludwig stared down at him, his expression unreadable. Feliciano couldn't help but notice the shade of his eyes—a pristine, icy blue—as they pierced coldly through him. He flinched and looked away.

"Come in," Ludwig spoke gruffly, and led his guests inside.

The interior of the house was dark and the air was stale. There were few furnishings and no adornments—no photographs, no paintings, not even a rug between their dirty shoes and the creaking hardwood floor. Ludwig led them to the end of a long hall, limping badly even with the help of his cane, and ushered them into a small study. It was cluttered, furnished with an aged sofa and a huge mahogany desk that was accompanied by an equally huge wingback chair. On one side of the room was a fireplace that looked like it hadn't been used in ages. On the other side was a window, but velvet curtains had been drawn across, blocking out any outside light.

Ludwig limped to the chair and eased himself into in as if were in pain, though his face remained expressionless. "Sit." He motioned for Elizabeta to seat herself on the sofa. When Feliciano moved to follow, he stopped him with a motion of his hand. "Not you. You get out, wait in the hall." He pointed at the door.

"Ludwig! Don't be so rude!" Elizabeta admonished, standing up and looking like she was ready for another fight. But Feliciano figured it would be better if he just followed directions. Before the relatives could say anything more, he slipped back out into the hall and closed the door behind him. He could hear their voices coming through the walls, but he couldn't make out their exact words. They sounded like they were arguing. They were probably discussing him, he realized with a sigh. Was he going to be sent back to Austria immediately? Did Ludwig find him so repulsive that he wasn't even going to give him a chance? Elizabeta seemed to like him and seemed like she would put up a fight for him, but he didn't think Ludwig was the type of person who could ever be forced into doing something he didn't want to do. Not that Feliciano could blame anyone for not wanting a useless mute in their house.

Suddenly, the study door banged open behind him and Elizabeta stormed out, her wavy brown hair flying loose over her shoulder. Seeing the look on her face, Feliciano was sure he was going to be sent back home this instant, but instead she pressed a piece of paper into his hand and a kiss to his forehead. "Take care of yourself, Feliciano. I've given you my address so you can write to me any time. That jerk Ludwig is too stubborn to even install phone lines in this dump...Well, not that you could use a phone, could you?" She gave him an apologetic little smile.

Feliciano nodded, returning the smile as bravely as he could. She patted his cheek briefly and then shouted something insulting at Ludwig before stomping out of the house. A few moments later, Feliciano heard the sound of the car engine roaring to life, and then silence followed. He stood alone in the drafty old hallway, clutching a piece of paper, and trying not to cry. He didn't even notice that Ludwig had exited the study until the large man was right behind him, glaring down at him again with those cold blue eyes.

"The room we were just in is my private study," Ludwig said brusquely, "You're never, _never_, to go inside without my permission, you understand me?"

Feliciano nodded vigorously in response and this seemed to satisfy the older man for now. "Follow me. I'll show you some of the other rooms. It will be a pain if you aren't able to find things when I need you to."

Ludwig walked slowly, his limp hampering his movements much more than before. He must have been trying not to look weak in front of Elizabeta, but now there was no need for pretense. They went back down the hall, passing several closed doors. Feliciano wondered what was behind them, but Ludwig didn't explain, so he could only assume they were rooms that he wasn't allowed into.

"This is the dining room," Ludwig stopped in front of a large room that was furnished with nothing but a long wooden table and a few chairs that didn't match. A wrought-iron chandelier hung from the ceiling. "I don't usually eat in here, but you can use it if you want. I like to take my meals in my study, alone."

At the back of the house, with a door that lead outside, was the kitchen. Adjacent to it, stairs lead down to a cellar where food and wine could be stored, although at the moment there was "nothing really down there but rats," Ludwig admitted. Feliciano made a mental note to clear out the cellar as best he could and start stocking it with tasty ingredients right away. He wondered what kind of food Ludwig liked best? It must be hard to live without a proper cook in the house, he thought, and was determined not to let that state of affairs continue. Feliciano wasn't a real chef, but Francis, Mr. Edelstein's cook, had praised him as a natural talent. Besides, good food warmed the heart, or so Feliciano had always believed.

At the bottom of a large staircase, Ludwig paused. Feliciano noticed the sweat on his forehead and the way he was breathing hard through his nose. If just walking the length of the house was this hard on him, it didn't seem like he could make it up the stairs.

"Hold this," Ludwig shoved his cane at Feliciano, who nearly fumbled it in surprise, and then began to drag himself up the stairs with painful slowness, using the banister to support his weight.

_Stop, you'll hurt yourself!_ Feliciano wanted to shout. Instead, he quickly tucked himself under Ludwig's armpit, wrapping the man's well-muscled arm around his own thin shoulders. He slipped a free arm around Ludwig's back, supporting him.

"I don't need any assistance," Ludwig snapped, but he seemed to accept the help nonetheless. Together, they made slow progress. By the time they reached the second floor, Feliciano was sweating too. The German was heavy!

"This first bedroom is mine," Ludwig said, pointing at the first door at the top of the stairs, "But I always just sleep downstairs, in the study."

They moved to the adjacent room. The German man pushed open the door and flicked on the lights, but didn't step inside. "This is where the past maids have slept. There are servants' quarters on the third floor, but no one has lived there for years. Anyway, I see no reason to keep you locked in some glorified broom closet if there are bedrooms free."

Feliciano's jaw dropped when he saw his new room. It was huge! There was no way a servant was supposed to sleep in a room like this, furnished with an enormous four-poster bed that could have slept a whole family of Italians. There was even a fireplace!

Oblivious to his servant's shock, Ludwig bade him a terse goodnight and abruptly turned toward the stairs again. Without prompting, Feliciano slipped back under his arm, acting as an extra support.

"Damn you, I said I don't need help!"

The German's harsh tone startled Feliciano, but he didn't loosen his grip. He could feel the way Ludwig was leaning into him and knew that despite his stubborn pride, he needed the help. It made Feliciano feel good in a way, to be useful when he was truly needed. He enjoyed working in Mr. Edelstein's house, but he'd always felt more like a charity case there rather than an actual employee. He was paid a nominal wage but essentially had worked for room and board. He'd kept busy with odd jobs, cleaning, dusting, filling in when the assistant cook was sick… but he never really felt _needed_. He never felt like he did right now.

At the bottom of the stairs, Ludwig reclaimed his cane and pushed Feliciano away. "I can make it back myself."

Feliciano watched as he struggled back toward his study. Ludwig was kind of mean-looking and didn't smile or laugh, but he didn't seem like a bad person. He seemed sad though, and angry too. The Italian wondered if he would ever tell him about his family or how he got that limp and those scars. Somehow, he doubted it.

The house groaned and settled, making creepy noises that made Feliciano's skin crawl. Left alone, he suddenly felt dwarfed by the giant, creaky house. Hastily, he retrieved the luggage that he had left in the foyer and ran up the darkened stairs as fast as if something was chasing him. He burst into his bedroom where the light was already on and closed the slammed the door shut, breathing hard. How did Ludwig live all alone like this? Wasn't he scared? Feliciano hugged his arms around his middle as he looked nervously around at his new bedroom. At first, he'd been awed by the sheer size of it, but now it all seemed _too_ big. It wasn't cozy like the room he shared back in Mr. Edelstein's house. All of the furniture was huge. He felt like Jack from the fairy tale, a puny human intruding on the Giant's house at the top of the beanstalk.

Hesitantly, he inspected the bed, then went to explore the wardrobe. It was an ancient thing and towered over him as he opened it, looking to see what was inside. There were extra pillow, blankets, towels… He explored farther, finding a few old candles and a yellowed, dusty copy of the Holy Bible. There were other odds and ends in there too, hidden away in the back of it: an old necktie, a few cheap hairpins, a grammar book, chalk, bits of string. There was also one object that especially caught Feliciano's eye. It was a linen nightgown, with a bit of lace at the collar and cuffs. It was clearly a woman's garment, but he decided to try it on anyway, just for fun. Ignoring the cold, he shimmied out of his soiled traveling clothes and folded them neatly, placing them aside. The nightgown only reached mid-thigh on him, as he was taller than the original owner, but he like the way the material felt against his bare skin.

Feliciano didn't unpack that night. He took all the extra blankets he could find and made a cocoon for himself in the center of the bed. Staring up into the darkness, listening to the creaking and groaning of the house, it was hard to fall asleep. His mind wandered… What was Mr. Edelstein doing right now? Was he taking his brandy in the library before bed? Francis was probably taking Michelle out on a date. He could imagine the two of them, cheeks red from wine, walking the grounds at night and looking at the stars.

Homesickness washed over Feliciano as he lay alone in bed. He missed Mr. Edelstein, even though he had a funny voice that sounded like he was talking through a straw all the time. He missed Tino, the Finnish servant who always let Feliciano climb into his bed and snuggle against him when he was feeling sad. He missed Francis's silly laugh that went like _On hon hon_ and he missed Sister Isabelle and Father Rudolph and most deeply of all… he missed Lovino, his big brother whose face he couldn't even remember anymore.

Feliciano fell asleep that night with tears staining his cheeks.

~tbc~

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Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Feliciano sighed, staring pensively out the kitchen window at the autumn clouds that were collecting in an otherwise pale blue sky. With one hand, he idly stirred the bubbling pot of potato soup in front of him, judging it to be just about ready to serve. To his tongue, it was a bland dish, but the Italian hadn't had a chance to walk out to the nearby town for supplies yet. He had to just make do with whatever foodstuffs were already stored in the freezer and cellar. He wanted to ask Ludwig for permission to go to town soon, though, before the weather started to get too gloomy and the autumn rains turned the unpaved country roads to mud.

Thinking of a trip to town, the Italian perked up a bit. He had always loved going with Francis on market days, the elder showing Feliciano how to choose the ripest tomatoes or the freshest herbs (not to mention the best ways to flirt with pretty ladies). Market days were always so full of color and sound—girls wearing ribbons in their hair, children fighting over candies, local farmers advertising their goods. Feliciano wondered what the local town was like, and hoped it would be similar to what he was used to. Maybe he could even convince Ludwig to come along. The fresh air might help put a smile on the dour man's face.

After the first night, Feliciano had seen much less of Ludwig than he would have expected. The large man seemed adept at hiding himself in the labyrinth of the house and there were so many closed doors that led to rooms Feliciano hadn't yet mustered the courage to intrude on. Instead, he'd busied himself with cleaning and preparing meals. Whenever he _did_ interact with Ludwig, which was mostly just to bring him food, the man was terse and unsmiling, and often smelling faintly of alcohol. He rarely said more than two words at a time and sometimes didn't acknowledge the young housekeeper's presence at all. Unable to speak, to shout, to cry aloud, Feliciano could do little but endure the other's silence patiently, hoping that as time wore on they would warm up to each other. Feliciano was sure that once he got to know Ludwig a bit more, he would find that he was a kind person. After all, Miss Elizabeta seemed to care deeply for him. She had nearly cried when speaking of him in the car. And if gentle Miss Elizabeta loved him, then he couldn't be all that bad, right?

Feliciano prepared a tray with silverware and a bowl of the hot soup. Balancing the tray carefully, he made his way toward Ludwig's study, his footsteps echoing in the quiet house. He hated to admit it, but he was getting very lonely here. At Mr. Edelstein's house, there had always been someone laughing or singing or shouting. One of Mr. Edelstein's relatives had two children who were still at the age where they would chase each other through the halls with tablecloths tied around their necks like capes, waving sticks as they played at being soldiers. The ruckus they made had always given the household servants a good laugh—at least, when they weren't busy muttering curses as they cleaned up the children's mess.

But even now, it wasn't so much the silence in Ludwig's house that bothered him. It was the stillness… so still that it bordered on lifeless.

Feliciano knocked hard on the door of Ludwig's study, but there was no reply. Was Ludwig asleep? Or perhaps he was somewhere else in the house…? Hesitantly, he tested the doorknob. The heavy door swung wide open with creak, as if pulled open by invisible hands. The room was empty but the desk lamp was still on, sending a faint electric hum to Feliciano's ears. A bottle of scotch was standing uncorked amongst a mess of papers and books.

He surveyed the empty room with a trace of anxiety. _He said never to come in here without his permission, but it won't be good for him to miss a meal… I guess I can just leave the food on the desk…he'll probably be right back._

The housekeeper placed the tray on the desk and turned to leave. He knew he shouldn't touch anything, especially now that he'd already broken the one rule that Ludwig had been so adamant about setting, but he hated how musty and stale the air was. It practically smelled like rot in here and yet Ludwig spent most of his day holed up inside this cramped space like it was a prison. Surely, if Feliciano just cracked open the window a bit, it wouldn't hurt anyone? A little fresh air would be healthy, after all.

Feliciano tip-toed over to the window (why he felt the need to tip-toe, he wasn't sure, but it felt weird to just stride across the room like he owned it) and drew aside the velvet curtain. Dust exploded in his face and set him into a coughing fit. When was the last time anyone cleaned in this place? Ludwig was going to get lung disease if he kept breathing in this toxic air!

Wheezing and blinking dust out of his eyes, Feliciano pulled against the rickety window. The recalcitrant thing burst open with a slam, sending him backward onto his rump with a grunt of surprise. Wind whirled into the room and papers flew off Ludwig's desk, settling on the floor around the startled housekeeper.

Oh no… Ludwig was going to be so mad. Feliciano berated himself as he knelt on the floor and gathered the papers into a semi-orderly pile. He knew he shouldn't look, shouldn't read anything, since they were Ludwig's property and they might be personal. But it wasn't like he could exactly _control_ what his eyeballs caught sight of…and if he caught sight of it, well, he could really help but read it.

He picked up one paper which appeared to be a letter, penned in large masculine handwriting. Glancing at it idly, his heart began to pound in his chest as soon as he realized what he was reading. It was a very personal letter, and instinct told him he was doing something bad by reading it, yet his curiosity quickly overcame his sense of caution.

_Ludwig,_

_I hope this reaches you at whatever spit of iced-over hell they've stationed you at now. I have about eight hundred things I could say about that, but if I do I know the censors reading this letter before you will just axe it (yeah, fuck you) so I'll say this… Uncle told me what happened, at least the parts he knows through the grapevine. I guess in the end I'm not surprised. I take back the things I said before Lutz, you're no dog and you never will be. Remember when we were just kids and you punched that fat shithead Heinrich in the teeth for teasing little Lili Zwingli? The teachers brought the switch to your arse but you never once apologized for what you did. I guess you're more like me than either of us thought—you're willing to fuck the rules, at least when you know it's important—maybe that's no consolation now but I'll say it anyway. By God Lutz, you'll make it through this. I know you're still too damn angry and prideful to write me back. I'm still going to write, even if you won't. And when this damn war is over, I'll be the one to bring you home._

_Your Brother,_

_Gil_

The letter was dated years ago, Feliciano realized, his hands trembling as he held the fragile note in front of him like a holy relic. There were others just like it, dozens of them, many of them years old, having somehow survived—no, Feliciano saw how the paper was worn soft, how deep the creases were—these letters had been read over and over, had been handled, touched, maybe even cherished—

"What are you doing."

The cold, flat voice struck Feliciano like a lead weight. His head snapped up to where Ludwig was standing in the doorframe, his face white except for two high spots of color on his cheeks. His lips were pressed into a thin, furious line.

"What—are—you—_doing_?"

Feliciano shrank back. Unable to voice a defense, he dropped the letter back into the heap on the ground and tried to shuffle backwards on his hands, away from that acidic blue gaze. Ludwig followed him into the room and grabbed the young Italian by the wrist in a bruising grip, jerking him to his feet and wrenching the boy's shoulder as he did so. Feliciano let out a sharp gasp, tears of fear and pain springing to his eyes.

"How _dare_ you—" Ludwig bit out viciously, "After I made it explicitly clear—What the _hell_ do you think you're doing snooping around in my private affairs, _boy_?"

Feliciano shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to twist out of the stronger man's grip. What could he do? Even with a voice, he wouldn't have been able to explain himself. Oh god, he was such an idiot, such a stupid idiot, and now Ludwig was—he was going to—

For a moment, looking into the rage and pain in those blue eyes, Feliciano felt a thrill of primal fear cut through him. Was this what they called instinct? The overpowering urge to protect yourself, to seek safety and flee from pain?

But the moment passed. Abruptly, Ludwig's anger turned brittle and the unnatural brightness in his eyes dulled once again. The larger man let go of his wrist, letting him crumple to the floor by his feet.

"You—get the hell out of here," Ludwig ordered hoarsely. "Just go."

When Feliciano hesitated, the man rounded on him. "_Get out_," he snarled.

Hot tears spilled down Feliciano's cheeks as he fled blindly from the room. Not knowing where to turn, he burst out the front door and sat on the first step of the porch, not caring that the wood groaned under his weight. He curled up into a ball, putting his head between his knees as he cried silently. Why was he so stupid, so irritating to the older man? Ludwig obviously hated him, had probably hated him from the moment he set eyes on him. He didn't care that Feliciano was just trying to help him, just trying to be useful to him in some small way…

The young Italian squeezed his eyes shut, wishing desperately that somehow he could be magically transported home—not just back to Mr. Edelstein's mansion Austria, but truly _home_, to Lovino, wherever he was now—to sunshine, to family.

* * *

Ludwig picked up the letter the young Italian had been reading, his hands automatically smoothing out the creases in the page even as his eyes refused to read the words. Instead, his mind's eye saw the naked fear that had been stark on the boy's face just moments ago, and he shuddered in revulsion at his own behavior. God, he had never wanted to see that too-familiar look directed at him ever again.

A bone-deep weariness was all that remained in the wake of Ludwig's earlier anger. It's soft ache came in contrast to the never-ending pains that pierced his bad leg like darts of fire. Months in the hospital, years of so-called recuperation, but it seemed that the injuries he'd sustained would never stop haunting him. So be it, he thought grimly. Perhaps the pain was meant to be a reminder, or a punishment. He took a drink from the bottle he'd left open on his desk, relishing the liquid's familiar burn. Doctor's salves, exercises, tinctures—nothing they gave him had ever helped. Only drink could dull his pain to a manageable ache.

Ludwig turned toward the door. He should find the Italian, he knew, and—what? Offer an explanation? An apology? Tell the boy he was free to put in his papers and run back into his sister-in-law's arms whenever he chose?

Supported by his cane, Ludwig managed his way down the long hall. The front door was open and beyond it, he could see the boy as he sat curled into a miserable ball on the front porch. Ludwig stood silently in the shadow of the doorway, watching the thin shoulders shaking with the force of the boy's silent sobs. The sunlight caught the copper in his brownish hair, highlighted the fragile lines of his neck, his back. The sight made Ludwig ache in ways that had nothing to do with his old wounds.

He opened his mouth to call out to the boy, to apologize, but the words didn't come. Instead, he retreated back into the house, his mouth set in a grim line. The years came and went, but Ludwig hadn't changed. He was still a damn coward.

He went to his study and closed the door. The meal that the boy had cooked was still there, cooling on the desk. He turned his eyes away from it, staring at the shaft of light from the window as it crept across the floor. When the light was gone entirely, Ludwig finally mustered the strength to leave the room again. He walked the long dark hall, past the closed front door, and stopped when he reached the stairs. He didn't bother to turn on the lights. From his point of the view, the steps seemed stretch on infinitely, ascending into an inky darkness.

For a long time, he just stood there, head tilted upward, staring at nothing. He had no idea what he was waiting for or what he intended to do. From where he stood, he could hear the sound of the boy's movements coming from upstairs. First, the sound of running water as he drew himself a bath. Later, the creaking of floorboards as he moved across his room.

Eventually, it became completely quiet. The boy was abed now, likely drifting off to pleasant dreams.

Ludwig remained at the foot of the stairs. He couldn't climb them on his own.

~tbc~

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